10 a.m.
The clanging and clattering of pots and pans echoed from the kitchen.
Like someone drowning suddenly rescued from the depths, I jolted awake from my meditative state, my whole body lurching forward. I gasped for breath, abruptly ending my cultivation session.
Everything in life needs moderation.
If I kept cultivating like this…
I seriously suspected that my body would be the first to give out.
That can’t be right, can it?
Zhizhi had told me before—since I was still in the early stages of cultivation, I shouldn’t go all in and overdo it. Still, even with limitations, I should at least be able to complete three full cycles of inner circulation.
So why was it that, when I actually tried, I couldn’t even finish two before hitting my limit?
Sitting cross-legged on the bed with my short little legs, I propped myself up and fell into serious thought.
What was going on?
Out of habit, I reached up and wiped the sweat off my face. My palm was soaked. My back, too, was drenched—as if I’d been steamed alive like a soy-braised shrimp, dragged out of a hot spring, dripping from head to toe.
Furrowing my willow-leaf-shaped brows, I tried to recall the specific details of my cultivation session.
Whenever the Yin energy circulated through my meridians, there was always this hard-to-describe heaviness—like I was constantly short of breath, like something was stuck. No matter how I channeled it, it just didn’t feel smooth.
My mouth opened slightly, and a paranoid thought suddenly popped into my head—something I remembered from those cliché female web novels.
No way…
I couldn’t possibly be that unlucky.
Back when I lived in the Su family’s house, I often hid under my covers to read novels late at night. A lot of those novels had frustratingly similar plotlines: the heroine, blessed with great talent, was born with naturally blocked meridians. In the early chapters, she was mocked and humiliated by everyone, until she solved her meridian problem and soared to glory, slapping every face along the way.
The so-called “waste-turned-genius” trope.
My beautiful little face twisted into an expression of helpless despair.
No. This couldn’t be it.
I suddenly flipped over and crawled out of bed. My movement was a bit too forceful, and I nearly collapsed straight back down.
Heart racing, I quickly clutched my stomach, worried I might’ve accidentally bumped the little ancestor’s head against the bedframe.
No, no, I had to calm down.
It’s normal for beginners to get a little excited after their first cultivation session.
I forced myself to settle down and mentally repeated: Speak gently. Move slowly.
Then I returned to the question that had started all this.
If there really were something wrong with me, Zhizhi would’ve noticed long ago. There was no way she’d leave it for me to discover on my own.
She could casually cure ailments that had stumped humanity for thousands of years—even late-stage cancer was nothing to her. So what were a few blocked meridians?
I seriously doubted anything could stump her.
Zhizhi’s miraculous techniques, as if crafted by the hands of creation itself, had already shaken my young mind countless times.
I stopped thinking about it. Once Sizhiru woke up, everything would naturally fall into place.
Cultivation wasn’t something easy either. The long hours of emptying one’s thoughts was, in its own way, an intense form of focus.
So how could it not be exhausting?
I grabbed a fresh, loose nightgown and forced myself to get up for a hot shower.
I didn’t wash my hair—it was too much trouble. I was so sleepy I could barely keep my eyes open. Washing my hair? No way. I just wanted to crawl into bed and catch up on sleep.
Luckily, I handled everything quickly. As soon as I lay down on my soft, fragrant bed, my vision went dark and I lost consciousness immediately.
In the living room, Su Liumeng was cooking.
In the middle of preparing food, she suddenly wondered what a certain someone might be doing. So, she walked to a door decorated with cartoon stickers. As she got closer, the sound of even breathing from inside made her raised hand freeze midair.
“She’s… asleep again?”
Then why didn’t she just sleep in longer this morning?
Was it… to make room on the bed for her?
Su Liumeng was suddenly touched.
It’s always those small, unintentional acts of kindness that strike straight at the heart.
‘This silly girl… She clearly wanted to sleep more herself, but still obediently got up, shook my arm, and made me go rest on the bed.’
Su Liumeng had already forgotten the fact that if someone really wanted to sleep, there was more than one bed in the house. Why would there be such a long delay?
Her expression grew complicated. She turned back to the kitchen and shut off the stove.
“Forget it. I’ll wait until that girl wakes up.”
Su Liumeng sat down at her computer.
With countless emotions stirring in her heart, she placed her fingers on the keyboard and began to type a new article.
[So she really does have me in her heart.]
A sharp-eyed new follower quickly caught on to the implication in the title.
[Wait—she? I just started catching up from the beginning. I remember the blogger’s original crush was supposed to be some gaming god of a man, right? How’d it turn into a girl all of a sudden in the latest update?]
Someone responded below:
[Ahem, that’s not important. It’s just a case of an online crush over many years turning into a real-life meet-up that… well, flopped when she found out he was actually the same gender. The important part is—it’s sweet! I mean, what’s more heartwarming than a decade-long secret crush turning into a romance?]
Of course, not everyone was a loyal reader. Some gossip-hungry passersby didn’t care about being polite.
[Wait, the blogger’s a girl too? That’s kind of gross. Blocked.]
Su Liumeng stared at that comment. Her good mood for the day evaporated instantly.
Her long, slender fingers tapped lightly on the desk.
A figure appeared silently in the villa, bowing gently toward her.
“Young Miss.”
“Find out who that person is,” Su Liumeng said softly. “No need to go overboard. Just pull them out and give them a good beating.”
“Got it.”
Su Liumeng stared at the screen for a long time before finally making a decision. She set all her posts to be visible only to followers, disabled reposting for all of her articles, and changed her personal profile description to: Sharing personal life only. No malicious intent. Be cautious with words. Only then did she turn off her computer screen.
Her deep eyes were reflected in the dark glass—calm and devoid of any emotion.
12:35 a.m.
I yawned and, looking a little sickly, shuffled over to the sofa. Leaning on the armrest, I closed my eyes for a short moment.
“Su Liumeng,” I called out weakly toward the other side of the living room.
“Coming, coming! I’ve been here the whole time.” Su Liumeng walked over quickly.
As soon as she got close, I whined and wrapped my arms around her waist. “Su Liumeng, I’m so tired. I don’t want to go to school…”
Who knew cultivating would be this exhausting?
As expected, there’s no such thing as becoming stronger without hardship in this world.
If cultivation were that easy, everyone would be a peak-level powerhouse. Just thinking about it, you know that’s impossible.
It’s not that I can’t endure hardship—it’s just that everyone has different limits.
“If you don’t want to go to class, then don’t. What’s the big deal? Your mood matters most. If it comes to it, we can just go back next year.” Su Liumeng gently patted my back as she spoke—then suddenly paused and asked in surprise, “Huh? You already have a technique you can cultivate?”
“Yeah,” I admitted honestly. It wasn’t something I could hide from her anyway. “I practiced for two or three hours this morning. All I feel now is… I’m so tired…”
“Cultivation really isn’t all that easy,” she said, frowning slightly. “Don’t overwork yourself. Keeping a healthy mental state actually helps more with improving your level.”
She narrowed her eyes and stared at my hair, though I knew her real focus was on observing my external energy. “This isn’t a traditional cultivation method. Why are you absorbing yin energy instead of internal energy?”
I hesitated for a second before gently pulling away from her embrace. “It’s a yin-based cultivation method. It feels more compatible with my physique and the progress comes much easier.”
Su Liumeng still looked worried. To reassure her, I added, “Don’t worry, the technique was given to me by a super powerful expert—she revised it several times before passing it on. She’d never harm me.”
I even raised two fingers in a solemn little vow. “I swear.”
Su Liumeng looked at me, full of words she wanted to say—yet suddenly swallowed them all. “Okay… If anything seems off, tell me immediately. I’ll help you find a solution.”
If Xinxin didn’t want to say something, she must have her reasons. And when the time came, she’d definitely tell me right away.
Ever since coming to understand Sixinian’s quiet gentleness, Su Liumeng’s mood had been very good. Within a single second, she had assigned a reasonable explanation to my behavior. She no longer felt insecure or jealous over nothing.
…Hm?
From the couch, I peeked up at Su Liumeng.
Seeing that she really didn’t look the least bit jealous, I suddenly felt… a little off-balance.
Could it be…
Has our level of trust and relationship… taken a step forward?
In the living room, Su Liumeng was cooking.
In the middle of preparing food, she suddenly wondered what a certain someone might be doing. So, she walked to a door decorated with cartoon stickers. As she got closer, the sound of even breathing from inside made her raised hand freeze midair.
“She’s… asleep again?”
Then why didn’t she just sleep in longer this morning?
Was it… to make room on the bed for her?
Su Liumeng was suddenly touched.
It’s always those small, unintentional acts of kindness that strike straight at the heart.
‘This silly girl… She clearly wanted to sleep more herself, but still obediently got up, shook my arm, and made me go rest on the bed.’
Su Liumeng had already forgotten the fact that if someone really wanted to sleep, there was more than one bed in the house. Why would there be such a long delay?
Her expression grew complicated. She turned back to the kitchen and shut off the stove.
“Forget it. I’ll wait until that girl wakes up.”
Su Liumeng sat down at her computer.
With countless emotions stirring in her heart, she placed her fingers on the keyboard and began to type a new article.
[So she really does have me in her heart.]
A sharp-eyed new follower quickly caught on to the implication in the title.
[Wait—she? I just started catching up from the beginning. I remember the blogger’s original crush was supposed to be some gaming god of a man, right? How’d it turn into a girl all of a sudden in the latest update?]
Someone responded below:
[Ahem, that’s not important. It’s just a case of an online crush over many years turning into a real-life meet-up that… well, flopped when she found out he was actually the same gender. The important part is—it’s sweet! I mean, what’s more heartwarming than a decade-long secret crush turning into a romance?]
Of course, not everyone was a loyal reader. Some gossip-hungry passersby didn’t care about being polite.
[Wait, the blogger’s a girl too? That’s kind of gross. Blocked.]
Su Liumeng stared at that comment. Her good mood for the day evaporated instantly.
Her long, slender fingers tapped lightly on the desk.
A figure appeared silently in the villa, bowing gently toward her.
“Young Miss.”
“Find out who that person is,” Su Liumeng said softly. “No need to go overboard. Just pull them out and give them a good beating.”
“Got it.”
Su Liumeng stared at the screen for a long time before finally making a decision. She set all her posts to be visible only to followers, disabled reposting for all of her articles, and changed her personal profile description to: Sharing personal life only. No malicious intent. Be cautious with words. Only then did she turn off her computer screen.
Her deep eyes were reflected in the dark glass—calm and devoid of any emotion.